


Pawn

by pasiphile



Series: These Violent Delights Outtakes and Prompts [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Bondage, Cocky Subs, Dildos, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Edgeplay, Femdom, Flogging, Handcuffs, Knifeplay, M/M, Multi, No Safeword, Riding Crops, Rope Bondage, Sensory Deprivation, stress positions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 00:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2248968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasiphile/pseuds/pasiphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Negotiations take an unexpected turn, and suddenly Sebastian Moran finds himself in Irene Adler's business room, caught in a  game between two of the most dangerous (and <i>attractive</i>) people he's ever met.</p><p>(Outtake for These Violent Delights, but can be read separately)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [221brosiewilde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/221brosiewilde/gifts), [bisexualcyborg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualcyborg/gifts).



> Note the tags, please. This one's kinky as fuck and highly dubious consent-wise; proceed with caution.
> 
> thank you to Sarah for providing inspiration!

_[...]_

_But then Adler tilts her head and gives you a very dangerous smile. “Clever, isn’t he, your pet? I meant to ask,” she says, eyes on you but addressing Jim. “Do you lend him out? Because if you give me another few hours with him I’m sure I can get him to beg.”_

_Irene foot finally slides that last distance to the right, resting firmly against your crotch. Jim twists his hand, putting pressure on the tendons of your knee. You grip the edge of the table and do your best to keep quiet, because it’s perfectly fucking clear that this isn’t about you._

_He mirrors her smile, honey masking the poison beneath. “I’m afraid you’ll have to find your own. This one’s mine.”_

_Your stomach flips._

_“Oh, but you can join in too, you want. I don’t mind a threesome,” she says, twisting her foot._

_You make a choked noise that sounds like nothing so much as a squeak and look pleadingly at Jim - he can’t, he wouldn’t - and he smiles, still looking at Adler, leaving you feeling like you’re teetering on the edge of precipice._

_~~~_

“Well, if you put it like that,” Jim says lazily.

Your head whips around. “ _What_?”

Even Irene seems slightly thrown that her bluff’s been called. But she rallies, of course. “It would be my pleasure. Not here, though, I prefer to have an actual bed at my disposal. Among other things.”

“So why don't we go to your place after? I'm sure Seb would like that.” And then, directed at you, “Stop spluttering, dear, it isn't very becoming.”

“What happened to – ”

“I'll be there, won't I? I'm sure it will be fun. Anyway, back to business…”

***

You’re panicking.

It’s a novel feeling, and not one you’re enjoying very much. But there’s honestly no way you’re going to survive both of them, at the same time. So yes, panic. And the worst part is that they’ve both noticed that you’re panicking, and it would be hard to tell who’s enjoying it more.

No, actually, the worst thing isn’t that; the worst is that the parts of you that aren’t panicking are actually quite looking forward to this.

You’re not even entirely sure how you got to Belgravia. You can’t have driven yourself, not like this. All you know is that one moment you were still relatively safe in the cafe, and now you’re standing in the middle of Irene Adler’s business room. Adler has disappeared into her walk-in wardrobe and the smell of the room is starting to bring back memories and you’re getting close to hyperventilating.

A hand on your wrist pulls you from your thoughts. Jim is looking up at you with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

“Relax, will you?” he says. “You can take this. You’ve had worse.”

“Have I?”

“Okay, maybe you haven’t.” He raises his eyebrows. “You want out, Seb? Last chance.”

“Oh, so now I have a choice?”

“You always have a choice.”

You open your mouth to reply but Adler steps from her wardrobe.

“Seb?” Jim prompts.

“I’m good.”

Adler walks in and they circle you and each other like two hungry sharks. Or lions, defending their territory, and the fact that you’re technically the territory they’re fighting over is both terrifying and deeply arousing.

Goddammit they’re going to kill you.

“So, what do you say?” Adler says. “Handcuffs, yes? And normally I'd say blindfold, but…”

Jim shakes his head. “Kills the anticipation. Let him look.”

“Gag?”

“No, I'd like to hear him.” He turns to Adler. “It's so adorable, isn't it, when they start to beg?”

“I can hear you, you know,” you say.

“Oh darling, trust me, we know,” Adler replies, and the look in her eyes is enough to make your knees go a little weak.

“So, er… No safewords then, this time?” you ask, 'cause no harm in trying.

“Don't need 'em, do we, dear boy?” Jim grins at you, and this time your knees actually physically buckle. “You're safe with me.”

“I'm starting to doubt that,” you mutter.

Irene arches an eyebrow at Jim. “Do you allow him to speak to you like that?”

He shrugs. “It amuses me.”

“Well, he's your pet. Clothes?”

“Off. Don't want them to get in the way later.”

“Good point.” She turns to you. “Well?”

“Oh, sorry, was that an order?” you sneer, because even now you can't resist to push. “I thought you were still chit-chatting.”

She looks at Jim, who nods slightly, and then she crosses the room. She stops in front of you and you look down your nose at her, giving her your best _oh-really_ face. She smiles.

And then she slaps you hard across the face.

Jim laughs. You raise your hand to your burning cheek on instinct and take a step forwards, fingers curled into a fist.

“Down, boy,” Jim says from the other side of the room, still laughing, and you breathe out hard, relax your hand.

“This is going to be fun, isn't it?” Adler says. “Look at him, shaking already. Strip.”

She turns around and heads to her closet. Jim follows, hands in his pockets. They’re both ignoring you. You look at the door. You could probably make a break for it now if –

“Don't even think about,” Jim says from the closet, not even looking at you, hell knows how he knew.

You take off your clothes with quick, angry movements. Halfway through Adler cracks a whip and you twitch in surprise. Jim gives an  _ooh_  of fascination.

They’re still not done rummaging when you’re undressed, so you take the opportunity to try and calm yourself. You close your eyes, even out your breathing, count your heartbeat.

It’s cool inside the room, making goosebumps rise on your flesh. Silent too, no outside noises, no passing cars. You feel extremely aware of the air on your skin, the wooden floor underneath your feet, your heartbeat. And the two of them, at the far side of the room. Like you’re looking through a thermal imagining scope and seeing them light up red and hot.

“Does he always do that?” Adler asks.

You crack one eye open and glare at them. Adler is looking at you with her head on one side, like you’re a child who just did something precious. While Jim has that _gleam_ in his eyes…

“Only when things are getting a bit too much for him.” He pushes off the wall and saunters over to you. “Ain't it cute?” he drawls. “On the plus side, he always can cool down a bit when needed.”

He stops in front of you, close enough to smell the aftershave and hair product and slight hint of sweat on him, and looks you up and down. “Which  _means_  he can keep it up all night, if I want him to.”

Your stomach flips.

“Handy,” Adler says, coming over as well.

You’re outnumbered, and instinct starts kicking in. Jim puts a hand on your shoulder, squeezes, and stands on tiptoe. “Hush,” he says, his breath brushing your ear. You shiver.

He spins you around by the shoulder, making you face Adler. “So. Where to start?”

“Well, I'm getting tired of looking up all the time.”

Jim kicks at the back of your knee and you go down with a curse, pain flaring up from where your kneecap hits the wooden floor.

“There we are,” Jim says cheerfully.

“You could have just – ” you start, but then his hand pulls at your hair and you shut up.

It changes things, being on a lower level like this. Messes with your head. And Jim’s tight grip on your hair and the resulting painful tingle of your scalp aren’t really helping matters.

“That's better,” Adler says. She grips your chin and lifts your head, and Jim's hand drops to your shoulder and the panic is rising again. “I see why you picked him, Jim. He’s wonderfully responsive.”

“Actually it was the other way around, if you want to be technical about it,” you say. When in doubt, swagger.

“You like pushing at the limits, don't you, Sebastian?” She strokes your cheek, still heated from her slap earlier.

“He does,” Jim says, dragging his nails over your neck.

You bite the inside of your cheek and pointedly don’t look down.

“Cocky,” she says. “But we can fix that.” She looks over your head at Jim, ignoring you. It makes you feel small, objectified. “Do you want to, or shall I?”

“Choice is yours,” Jim says easily.

“In that case I'll watch, just for now. No performance anxiety, I hope?” You look up and see her smile at Jim.

“None whatsoever,” Jim says, all easy confidence and amused calm.

She turns and sashays to one of the stuffed chairs, undoing her dress. The slow sway of her hips is close to hypnotic.

“Can you …?” Jim asks her.

“Of course.” She leans into the closet and throws something at Jim. He catches it with that grace he so rarely shows and cracks it experimentally.

It is, appropriately enough, a fucking riding crop. You close your eyes and your shoulders go tense in anticipation.

He runs it lightly over your back, where some of the welts from last time still haven’t healed. You shiver violently.

“Restraints?” he asks.

“Almost forgot. Let's see… fur-lined, police issue, silk rope, hemp rope, silk scarves, leather cuffs - ”

“Rope’ll do fine.”

She tosses him a coil and he snatches it neatly from the air. You cross your wrists and he pulls them up roughly, making you almost lose your balance. You shuffle around on your knees and bite down on your tongue, struggling to keep silent, to obey.

“Don’t trust him with handcuffs, do you?” Adler asks. She’s settling down into a chair wearing only her underwear, but once again she looks completely in control.

“He can get out of almost anything, Sebastian.” He pulls at the knot a bit too hard and you grimace.

“Interesting. And you? Were you a boy scout, Jim? You seem awfully good at tying knots.”

“You might want to remember that your questioning won’t work on me, Irene dear,” he replies, just a bit too sharp.

“Just expressing an interest.”

He loops the rope around your wrists one more time and leans forward, close to your ear. “Why?” he whispers, and then he backs off again.

 _Why_. Why what?

But then the crop hits your back and you pitch forward, mind a blank except for that line of fiery pain. Jim is stronger than he looks, you always forget that, and that was almost full-strength. Before you can catch your breath he hits you again, just as hard, at the  _exact same fucking spot_ and you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood.

In the distance, Adler makes a quiet noise. You blink. That’s important, isn’t it? That she’s reacting?

Jim seems to think so too, because he pauses. “Something wrong?” he asks, chilly.

"Not one for warm-up?" Adler asks, sounding – is that disapproval?

You try looking up at Jim but he twists his fingers in your hair and forces your head back down, without even looking at you. “I hate being predictable.”

"It isn’t about that, it’s about durability. If you want to go hard and long - "

You swallow, and Adler notices and chuckles. “Don’t like the sound of that, do you? Tough luck. Anyway, if you want to make it last you’ve got to start slow, it’s basic stuff.”

"Well, then why don’t you show me how it’s done, then?" Jim says smoothly. He tosses the riding crop to her and she catches, red nails flashing.

"With pleasure."

She stands up and Jim passes you. For a fraction of a second your eyes meet his and he gives you a significant look.

 _Why._ Why are you here, why did he agree to this in the first place? It goes against every possessive instinct he has, so there has to be a damn good reason.

Adler goes to the wardrobe, exchanges the crop for one of the floggers, and then clicks past you. Her hand strokes your shoulder and you shudder. Go on,  _think_ , because you don’t have much time left here. 

Jim sits down on the bed, looking around idly, like he’s -

 _Ah._ Of course, that’s what this about, a chance to study her in her natural environment. And the same goes for her, of course. If there’s anyone who can deduce a man’s character by the way he holds a whip, it has to be Adler.

And you just happen to be caught in the middle, of no real importance. Just your fucking luck.

She runs a proprietary hand over your back, fingers splayed. “Please don’t tell me I have to explain where to hit?” she asks Jim, slightly mocking.

“I know not to aim for the kidneys, yes,” he replies, smiling. “Are you _concerned_ about him, Irene? How touching.”

“Just not looking forward to the fuss having him die in my rooms would cause. Aim carefully once it’s your turn, please.”

The flogger cracks across your shoulders. You dig your nails into your palms. For all she talked about _going slow_ , that was actually quite hard.

You look up. Jim is watching you, smiling slightly. The flogger hits down again, your entire body jolting at the impact, and Jim’s smile broadens just a little but he doesn’t look away.

Why the _hell_ is this so – you feel _exposed_ , in a way you haven’t in a long time. More than anything it reminds you of the first time you came to Jim’s flat and he played with your wounds just to see you wince.

And he keeps eye contact all throughout Adler’s increasingly painful whipping, until you’re panting and shaking a little and still you can’t quite tear your eyes away.

Her hand closes around your throat and she pulls you back, your head resting against her hip. “Have anything to s-”

“He doesn’t,” Jim says, before she can even finish.

No safewords. Not that you would – when Jim’s near your own sense of self-preservation sort of goes out the window; you wouldn’t even safeword if you were lying bleeding out on the floor. You just automatically rely on him to know how far you can be pushed, and lose all sight of your own responsibility in those matters.

Adler keeps holding your throat for a few seconds though, as if she’s hesitating. But then she lets go and pushes at your shoulder. You bend down obediently.

“Want to take over?” she asks Jim, casually.

“Arm getting tired?”

“Hardly. But I didn’t think you’d be the type to just sit back and let other people do the work.”

“Don’t you?” You peek out at him. He’s smiling again, but it’s sharp, dangerous. “Most people do.”

“Well, I know better. Go on then, show me what you can do. Impress a girl.”

He snorts. “Is that supposed to rile me?” he asks, bored. But he gets up, taking a cane along.

Your stomach flips again. And your cock twitches, because obviously there is something very deeply _wrong_ with you. But that’s hardly news.

He snaps his fingers. “Up.”

You straighten up. Your knees are aching, in an entirely different way than your back. “Well?” you say, a tad aggressively. “Where do you want me?”

Adler laughs. “You definitely like them _rude_ , don’t you Jim?”

“I like challenges,” he says, eyes still on you. “Chair”-he gestures with his chin-“and bend over.”

“What about the restraints?”

He smiles, slowly. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

You bite the inside of your cheek and go to the stuffed chair he pointed you to, feeling two pairs of eyes following you. Damn, but this is scary.

“I said _bend_ , Sebastian.”

You lean down, bending at the waist. With your hands behind your back you haven’t got any way to support yourself, and it’s putting a lot of strain on the muscles of your stomach and back.

Jim stops behind you and strokes your aching back. “I’m tempted to leave you like this.” He presses down. Your stomach muscles tremble in an effort to stay like this. “How long could you last before you collapse?”

He increases the pressure and you bend your leg and lean your knee on the seat. “Jim – ”

The crop hits the back of your thigh hard, unexpected. You curse and your knees buckle; you would have stumbled if it hadn’t been for Jim’s hand around your upper arm, holding you up.

He pulls at the rope and it falls away.

“Hands on the armrests, no moving,” he says, no inflection at all in his voice.

You bend your head and do as he says. It’s not the most dignified of positions, but at least it’s one you can hold for longer than a fucking minute.

Nothing happens. Anticipation, the oldest trick in the book. And although the idea of Adler staring at your bare arse isn’t one you particularly treasure, you just don’t _do_ embarrassment.

“Are you – ”

The cane catches at your thighs again. You grip the chair hard. Your back is still tingling from before, but that’s nothing compared to this, the sharp burn of it. Did he break skin? Feels like it.

Another hit, this time across the fleshiest part of your buttocks. You bite the inside of your cheek in an effort to stay quiet, but after the third, fourth, fucking _fifth_ blow, all after each other, you can’t help but make a small sound. Not that that stops him.

You close your eyes.

The thing about Jim is that behind all the lazy sarcasm and superiority and playfulness, he’s hiding a shitload of constant anger. You’ve seen it in action enough, the way his eyes flare up and his face turns into a rictus of fury, on those rare occasions he lets his control slip. Not that that happens very often, of course. He’s _Jim_ ; he’s learned to harness it, only lets it out when needed.

Like now.

You lose count almost immediately, lose most conscious thoughts except _stay up_ and _don’t cry_ , but even those are difficult. Jim hits _hard_ , everywhere, until your whole body is screaming with pain. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t stop, just keeps going – isn’t he getting fucking tired? – until your legs are shaking so hard you’re convinced you’re only one good hit away from going down.

And then he stops.

Your grip on the chair has gone white-knuckled. You can feel several drops of what must be blood trickle slowly down your back and your thighs – well, you’re not going to sit down comfortably any time soon, that’s for sure.

His next hit does send you to your knees. You struggle back up, shaking, reflexive tears in your eyes.

“Isn’t that – ” you hear Adler say behind you. She sounds calm, but the fact that she’s intervening is noteworthy enough.

“Worried again?” Jim asks, in that strangely _bored_ tone he uses when he’s feeling particularly murderous.

“Leave some for me, is what I’m saying.”

You stare down at the plush velvet of the chair. Panic is rising again, and you take a deep breath, try to calm down, but –

The hit comes almost as a relief, a sharp juddering impact of pain that chases away your nervous tremble. The next second Jim’s hand is in his hair and he pulls you back, roughly. You stumble, legs burning.

“That would be very selfish of me, wouldn’t it?” he muses. And then, to you, “ _Down_.”

You collapse gratefully onto the floor, legs folded next to you, trembling hands resting on the wood of the floor. You can hear them talk to each other, softly, but the words don’t really register. You close your eyes.

Everything hurts. It’s lost the sexual edge as well, it’s just – pain. Crossed a line there, although it’s Jim, meaning that he did it on purpose. Showing off. Proving he can push you to the limit.

You lean your head back and breathe in deeply, trying to fight it back. The worst of it is already fading, the searing painful lines down your legs and arse and back turning into a dull warmth. You open your eyes.

They’re both looking down at you.

And whoops, just like that there’s the sex again. It’s not just that Adler’s still in her underwear and Jim has lost his tie and jacket and his hair looks slightly ruffled, it’s –

Well. They’re both very _very_ good at this, aren’t they?

“All yours,” Jim says softly, eyes on you. He’s still holding the cane, tapping it absently against his thigh.

“Up you go, then,” Adler says.

You struggle back up, legs feeling like they’re made of water. Jim circles you and whistles. “That’s going to _sting_ in the morning.”

“I’m surprised, really,” Adler says. “I thought you would try to spare him, if you use him as a bodyguard.”

Jim shrugs. “He’ll heal,” he says, non-committally.

They’re still prodding at each other, trying to get reactions, interpreting every word. Although it’s getting increasingly harder to follow them.

 _Christ_ , your arse hurts.

“So,” Adler says. Jim steps aside, giving her room to come close to you. She holds her head to the side. “What to do next, hm?” 

She buries her fingers in your hair, tightening painfully.  You let her tilt your head back, throat bared.  “ You expect an answer to that?” you ask, voice strained.

She gives you a considering look, acting as if you didn’t speak at all. “Do you want me to fuck him?” she asks Jim, uncharacteristically blunt, and your breath hitches.

“Not particularly,” Jim says casually. “Unless you have an urgent need to.” He smirks.

“No. I just like _his kind_ better when they’re pegged and begging.” She pulls your head further back. There’s genuine fire in her eyes, this time – gone after a fraction of a second, of course, but still there.

Meaning one of your kind – or rather, what Adler thinks of as _your kind_ \- hasn’t been very nice to her somewhere in the past. No surprises there.

“Well,” Jim says, “in that case, be my guest.”

You make a tiny choked noise. Jim flashes his teeth at you. “Oh, Seb. It’s not like you haven’t done this before, is it?”

“Not – ” Not with a woman, not with two of them at the same time, not when it’s part of a game you can’t even begin to predict. “Like this,” you finish, lamely.

Adler smiles. “Well, I’ve always liked introducing people to new experiences. Bed,” she adds, no-nonsense. “Face up, spread-eagled.”

You look at Jim. He’s crossed his arms, still holding that damn cane, and when he sees you looking he raises his eyebrows, impatient.

“Yeah, right,” you mumble, and limp to the bed.

At least Adler’s massive bed is more forgiving than the hard wooden floor. But it’s… well, it’s a _bed_. Being beaten up is all fine and well but beds mean sex, and you’re not sure you can handle the combination of pain and lust right now.

Not that you have much of a choice. You lie back, gingerly, your torn and bruised skin screaming in protest. The sheets are going to get stained, but then again she’s probably used to that.

She crawls on the bed between your legs and reaches over you for your wrist. It gives you an eye-full of her cleavage, which in combination with the feeling of a handcuff closing around your wrist is enough to get you from a semi to rock-hard.

Fuck her. Preferably literally.

She settles back and grabs your hip, pulling. You obediently push up and let her put a pillow underneath your arse, even though her sharp nails on your bruised skin sting something fierce.

Jim has a point, all of this is pretty familiar to you. Even the handcuffs. The _main_ problem is Jim, though, lounging against the wall with his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, observing the show, looking extremely shaggable.

It’s the hair. His hair is only ever messed up like that because of sex.

She reaches beneath the sheets and pulls out a nondescript bottle of lube – you have a hysterical thought about _product endorsement_ and how lube producers should start paying her for advertising – and a dildo.

It’s a big one.

You swallow and glance at Jim again. He’s grinning, wide, unrestrained, loving every second of it. So much for his possessive streak.

“Open wide, dear,” Adler says, smiling sweetly.

You shift your legs. Adler laughs. “Not what I meant, darling.” And she leans over you, forces your mouth open and puts the dildo between your lips.

You glare at her, silently furious. She just dimples in response. “Keep it there until I’m done here, will you?” she says, innocently.

In the background Jim is laughing his arse off, and despite yourself you can feel your cheeks heat up.

She pulls on a glove – good, no fear of her claws then – and lubes up her fingers. Jim pushes off the wall and saunters over.

“Mind if I…” he asks, casual as you like, waving his hand at you.

“No, be my guest.” She pushes your thighs further open. You focus on the canopy, breathing steady.

Jim sits down on the side of the bed and reaches out, traces your face. “Ever done this with a candle?” he asks, thumb swiping over your stretched lip.

“No, health and safety. Hot wax and eyes are not a good combination.” She wriggles one finger in and you wince at the feeling. Jim grins and his hand comes down to your throat, holding you.

“How’s the back, Seb?” he asks, eyes glittering.

You glare at him. It _hurts_ , as a matter of fact: you have to be pretty dedicated cold fish to just lie back while you’re being expertly fingered, and every little twitch and movement sends pain down your nerves.

Jim leans back a little and he scratches down the back of your thigh. You make a noise - which comes out choked, for obvious reasons – and jolt hard.

Adler clucks her tongue. “Lie still,” she says, pinning your hip down. But your other leg is still bent and Jim is having fun tracing the fresh bruises and cuts there, pressing just hard enough to ride the exact line between _ticklish_ and _painful_.

You bite down on the dildo and focus back on the canopy. Teamwork, _Jesus_.

And out of nowhere – _fuck_ your imagination – the image springs up of being fucked by Adler while you’re sucking Jim’s cock, and that’s – that’s not the kind of image you can deal with, especially not with three of Adler’s fingers gently curling up inside of you.

Jim looks up, interested. “Oh, is that what you want?” he asks, mindreading as always, and Adler looks up in surprise.

“Did I miss something?”

“He’s _fantasising_ about us.”

“ _Is_ he?” She perks up. “Particulars?”

“Well, double-teaming, obviously, but as for how… Shall we ask him?” He pulls the dildo from your mouth. You cough and run your tongue over your dry lips.

“Well?” Jim asks, impatiently. He looks – _cruel_ , demonical, sadistic to the extreme.

“Fuck you,” you spit, thoroughly tired of playing the nice boy.

Jim laughs and hands the dildo over to Irene. “As you wish. Go for it, Miss Adler.”

“Pleasure.”

Three of Adler’s slim little fingers are in no way comparable to that black silicone monstrosity she wields. It’s not even that comparable to Jim either, it’s - you can’t shake the feeling of _too big_ and it doesn’t hurt, not exactly, but the stretch is way beyond comfortable.

Jim starts petting your hair as Adler patiently works the dildo inside of you, inch by agonising inch.

“You don’t do punishments, then?” she asks idly.

You snort. Jim slaps you lightly on the cheek and turns to Adler. “Depends. Why, are you feeling punitive?”

“It goes against my disciplinary streak, letting something like that slide.”

You make another derisive sound – if Jim had to punish you for every time you talked back at him you wouldn’t have any skin left by now. In reply Jim’s hand comes around your throat again, squeezing just a little.

A warning? Or encouragement?

“What did you have in mind?” Jim asks.

“Well, I still have that blindfold lying around. He seemed to _love_ that.”

Your eyes snap to Jim. _No_. Because – no, because you can’t, can’t do this without seeing, it’s hard enough as it is and if he cuts off your vision now you’re heading for a full-blown panic attack.

Jim’s face has gone unreadable.

“No,” he says at last, and you sag in relief. “But I do agree he doesn’t need all his senses.”

She gives him a considering look. “Hmm, interesting idea.”

She gives the dildo a last vicious push – you curse and your hips jerk up – and then she slides off the bed and goes back to her closet, back turned to you.

You look up at Jim. He’s frowning, chewing his lip, concentrated. But when he sees you looking he gives you a quick half-smile.

It’s amazing, how reassuring something as little as that can be.

Adler straightens up again and comes back, holding a pair of ear coverings, the kind you see on expensive headphones. The handcuffs jingle as you shift, nervously. Jim shoots you a quick look before focusing back on Adler. He takes the ear coverings from her and puts them on himself.

“Funny, isn’t it?” she says, softly. “How that works.”

He pulls them off again. “Instant sharpened sense of touch, gotta love the human brain. Worth a try.”

She takes them back and leans over you again, close enough that you could touch easily, if it hadn’t been for the handcuffs.

And then she puts on the ear coverings and your hearing is cut off.

It’s not that bad. For one thing, you’re used to this: you don’t fucking fire a sniper rifle without wearing ear protectors unless you want to be deaf at thirty. And you’re fairly good at reading body language, which Jim knows.

So he wants you to observe. Fair enough, although it would be easier _without_ the threat of sexual torture looming in the near future.

She leans back again and says something to Jim, her face turned too far away to lipread properly. Jim’s answer is lost entirely, but the relaxed shoulders and the tilt of his mouth mean _amusement_.

She settles back down between your legs, pushes a loose tendril of hair behind her ears, and takes hold of the dildo again. Jim gets off the bed, and you try to follow him. But without hearing, Adler’s movements are disorienting, strange. So you focus back on her.

Not that there’s much focus _left_ , by now. She slowly pulls the dildo out a little and then, equally slowly, forces it back in, with a little twist of her wrist. And like Jim said, with one of your senses cut off all the others just feel that much sharper. Your hips come up almost of their own accord, your cock desperate for touch. Not that you’re getting any.

The bed dips again, and then suddenly Jim’s hand is around your cock.

You make a noise – not sure what, or how, but it does make Adler laugh again. And Jim stubbornly doesn’t move his hand. His right hand, meaning…

Of course. With his left he rolls down a stretchy cock ring, almost businesslike, and the second it’s on he lets go again.

You close your eyes and try to think of anything but sex.

Although… You don’t know that much about dominatrices, but you do know that sex is usually not in the picture. Not explicitly, at least. And last time you were here you didn’t even get out of your pants, so… She’s making exceptions. For Jim.

A sudden particularly hard thrust breaks your concentration. You blink, look at them. They’re talking again, no idea what about, Adler half-concentrated on you and half on the conversation. Relaxed. _Seemingly_ relaxed.

It’s a front. Even sexually frustrated as you are you can see the subtle signs, the tension in her neck and shoulders, the carefully guarded facial expressions. And who wouldn’t be, letting Jim into their home?

She ups the tempo and you lose track of your thoughts again. You blink rapidly, try to focus on your breathing. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Jim get up again from the bed, but you can’t concentrate, can’t –

And then pain erupts across your chest. You gasp and pull hard against the handcuffs. Several red lines are blooming over your chest, irregular and with little deeper indents here and there.

You blink, look up. Jim is looming over you, smiling, idly swinging another flogger. One that looks a lot meaner than the first one, with knotted, thin straps.

And looking at him means you can’t look at Adler, who takes that moment to drive the dildo in deeper, and while she’s doing that and you’re looking at her again Jim hits down right across your stomach, once, twice, and it’s - toomuchnotenough _please_.

And then they stop.

Jim crawls to the head of the bed, slides the ear coverings off – sound comes rushing back, too loud and almost painful – and fists your hair. “Well?” he asks, with a sharp little pull. “Feel like sharing yet?”

You laugh, choked. “That’s what – That’s _all_?”

He pulls your hair again. “Go on, Seb, share with the class. Tell Miss Adler where your dirty little mind went.”

“Fine, fine.” You roll your eyes, sigh. Even _breathing_ hurts now, with your stomach lashed like that. “I was just thinking about how nice it would be to fellate you while Miss Adler there fucks me.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You give him an unimpressed look.

“Do you ever get _ashamed_ , Sebastian?” Adler asks thoughtfully.

“He does,” Jim says, curtly, without offering any explanation. You can _see_ the curiosity in Adler’s eyes light up, and unless you’re very much mistaken she’s going to spend the rest of this session trying to get you to show shame.

“So, what now?” Jim asks, breaking some of the tension. He absently puts his hand on your stomach and scratches over the marks left by the flogger. You flinch and bite your tongue. Christ, there won’t be an inch of unmarked skin left on you after they’re done.

“Change of position?” Adler suggests.

Jim nods. “Fine by me.”

Adler gets up again. Jim leans over you and unlocks the handcuffs. Half on instinct you put your hand on his upper arm, longing for touch. He gives your arm a brief squeeze before straightening up again.

You push up unto your elbows, wincing as the change of position makes the dildo rub against you. You reach for it, but Jim takes your wrist, stopping you.

“You’re joking,” you say, flatly.

You’ve played a similar game before, Jim sending you to a meeting with a plugged arse, but that was a tiny modest little butt plug, while this is a – well, most definitely not tiny _or_ modest.

You sit up, moving as slowly as you can, and try to ignore the twin mocking stares. Not about you. You’re just caught in the middle, unimportant, just the _prey –_

Wrong line of thought to follow. You stand up and try to stay relaxed as much as you can, because every tensing of muscle leads to that fucking dildo getting squeezed inside of you and it’s not – not something you can take much of.

“Well?” you say. Sweat is prickling in your eyes. You wipe it away and get briefly distracted by your chafed and discoloured wrists.

Adler smiles and moves to the wall, flips a switch. There’s a click and a swoosh, but you don’t see anything.

And then you look up.

“Handy,” Jim says, grinning, as you try not to choke on your laughter. It’s just – just such an evil suppervillain lair cliché, a pair of handcuffs dangling from the ceiling.

“Think that’s funny, do you?” Adler asks you, delicately. “Wonder how long that will last. Come here.”

You move to stand beneath the handcuffs, every step a particular kind of torture.

There’s a rig attached, some kind of pulley system. Makes sense, Adler might be fairly strong but she’s still tiny; heaving up blokes twice her weight would need technical assistance.

“Stop thinking,” Jim says sharply.

You blink, rapidly. Adler pulls at the cuffs, lowering them a little. “Hands up.”

Your slowly raise your arms, wincing at the stretch. She clicks them closed around your wrist and pulls them up again, not looking you in the eye.

Jim is, though. He’s gone back to frowning, although this time instead of distant and abstract it’s all focused on you. It’s a familiar look, assessing, weighing his options.

 _Please_ , you think, because you can’t hold out much longer if they keep going like this. You’re hurting in dozens of different places, and simply keeping track of both Adler and Jim is wearing you out like nothing else has ever done.

He looks over his shoulder, avoiding your eyes. So much for reassurance.

Adler steps back and runs an appreciative hand over your stomach, where several dark-pink lines still decorate your skin. You hiss and try to move back, even though stretched out as you are there isn't much possibility of that.

“There isn’t much of you _left_ , is there?” she says, starting to circle you. You lean heavily into the handcuffs, taking the weight off your feet for a moment.

“Except for the obvious, of course.” She slaps your arse, hard, and you clench reflexively  - which, with the dildo, isn’t the best of ideas.

Your cock is going to fucking _fall off_ if something doesn’t happen soon.

“What to do,” she says, slowly. “Candles? You seemed to like the heat, last time. Or…”

“I have an idea,” Jim says, cheerfully. But there’s an edge to it that sets off all your alarms.

“Do you?” she replies, guarded.

He goes to her closet and rummages around. “Consider it a _request_ , Irene dear,” he says over his shoulder. He pulls something out and hides it behind his back, like a kid with a secret gift.

“I’m always open for requests from you, Jim,” she says, graciously. But the tension has increased, and you catch her eyes darting to the right, to the wall – and a slightly raised surface in it. Safe. Weapon and panic button inside, you’re willing to bet.

He stops in front of her. “Curious?” he asks, smiling.

“Very.”

Jim pulls his hand from behind his back and offers her a small black roll of fabric with a little flourish. “Tada.”

Adler freezes. She stares at the roll, then up at Jim. Something unspoken passes between them.

“I don’t normally use these,” Adler says flatly.

“Well, this isn’t a _normal_ occasion. And no need to worry about contagion, he’s kept scrupulously clean.”

You try to crane your head, see what it is she’s holding. Something black – a roll of fabric, holding something invisible inside. What the hell is so horrible that it makes _Irene Adler_ freeze up?

“Fine,” Adler says coldly, and with one flick of her wrist she opens the roll, revealing a row of silvery –

Oh.

Jim leaves her standing and comes to stand behind you. His hand closes loosely around your throat, and his other grips the base of the dildo and pushes up. You groan, but your eyes are still glued to the scalpels in Irene’s hand.

If it wasn’t for Jim’s hand you would have started panicking. As it is, your earlier slight unease seems to have multiplied a hundredfold.

Pain is one thing. Even whips and canes that break the skin are bearable, easily so even, but knives… Psychology, probably, but it’s also very easy to fuck up.

Just one slip, one cut artery, and goodbye life.

She steps closer and puts her hand flat over your heart. “Racing,” she remarks. “Are you _scared_ , Sebastian?”

Jim’s fingers shift on your throat so his index finger is pressing against your jugular. You swallow, your adam’s apple dragging over his palm.

“You can answer that,” she adds, softly.

Jim leans in closer, his shirt brushing against the painful skin of your back, and nips at your earlobe.

 _Please_ , you think, but you swallow it. “No,” you say instead. Jim chuckles.

She rests the point of the scalpel in the notch between your collarbones. “And now?”

You bite your lip. Jim’s breath is warm against your throat and you’re hyper-aware of the edge of the scalpel, slowly going lower, still not breaking any skin. She keeps eye-contact, a slight smile on her lips. You can’t look away, cold sweat running down your back.

She angles her wrist and the point of the scalpel digs into the skin at the bottom of your sternum. You gasp.

“That’s better,” she says, softly. She increases the pressure and slides the scalpel upwards, leaving a small trail of blood over your breastbone.

You’re shaking again. Your mouth opens but no sound comes out, nothing you can think of to say. Sure as _hell_ don’t have any energy left to analyse her.

She pulls the scalpel back again. “Well?”

You stare at her. Fear… are you afraid? Not really – you’ve known fear, on the battlefield, and this is different; for one thing, you never had an erection this hard when you were surrounded by explosions.

Whatever it is you feel, though, it’s fucking _intense_.

She puts the scalpel back on you, on the front of your thigh. You lean backwards, eyes half-closed, and try to focus on Jim behind you, his hand on your hip and your shoulder, instead of the sharp prick of the scalpel, the hot line of pain as she cuts another line. You can’t hold in a noise, the start of a name maybe, and in response Jim’s hand takes hold of your neck, reassuring and solid.

You feel dizzy.

Adler’s eyes go back to your face. She’s lost the flirty, mocking, sadistic air; she looks dead serious now. Which is just another way to make things feel that much worse – how bad must it be before Adler gets worried?

She leans the tip of the scalpel an inch or two above your navel. You suck in your stomach in reflex. There’s no bone there, no thick protective layer of muscle and fat, and the thought that she’s going to – that she’s –

“Shh,” Jim says behind you, softly. His fingernails scratch over your nape.

“Should we stop, Jim?” Adler asks, and you’ve never wanted anything more than to hear a _yes_ to that.

But of course he’d never back down like that.

“Not yet,” he says, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“Fine,” Adler replies, and she _slashes_ the scalpel over your stomach.

You gasp for air, shocked, as blood slowly wells up from your stomach – nothing serious, a light cut, you’re fine, you’re _fine_ , but _Jesus_.

Adler takes Jim’s arm and pulls him to the side. You almost _whine_ when he pulls away from you. Without his grounding presence you feel like you’re floating, only not in a good way.

You look at them. Adler is smiling again, and Jim looks – furious, first, followed by amusement. He nods.

They take up position next to you, each on one side.

“ _Don’t_ close your eyes,” Jim says, sharply. You nod, feeling strangely resigned. What’s left to do to you that’s _worse_ than they’ve already done, right?

And then Jim goes to his knees in front of you.

You’ve got barely time enough to let that sink in, to see _Jim_ on his _knees_ , before Adler is suddenly holding the scalpel against your throat.

You freeze. She isn’t targeting the jugular, but even so. It’s your fucking _throat_.

Her other hand tangles in your hair, holding you still. “Don’t move,” she says, not that you needed that.

Although maybe you did, because down below Jim’s lips slide over your rock-hard ready-to-explode cock and you almost come on the spot. It’s only the threat of the knife that keeps you from thrusting forwards.

His hand slides up the inside of your thigh, brushing your balls before finding the base of the dildo. You give a little a sob.

Someone’s hand – you look down, see red nails – Adler’s hand is pressed against your stomach, nail drawing over the fresh cut in something that isn’t _quite_ pain but comes so fucking close it’s – or maybe that’s just all of it, mixing together, that fucking dildo inside of you and the pressure of the knife and Jim’s hand and mouth and you can’t close your eyes so you look down and jesus fucking christ he’s _looking up at you_ –

And right as you’re ready to come Adler cuts down deep just below your collarbone and you fucking _roar_ as your orgasm rips through you, because that’s what it feels like, like you’re being torn into bits and there won’t be anything left afterwards. You struggle against the chains, only partly aware of Jim’s steadying grip on your hips, the dildo _finally_ being removed, blood dripping down your chest. It’s just a haze, unclear, faded.

Then, suddenly it seems, you’re on a bed, wrists finally free again. Everything feels warm and fuzzy.

Holy fucking _shit_.

You blink. Slowly the room takes shape again. Jim. Jim is there, sitting on the bed. You open your mouth but he puts his fingers against your lips. “Shush.”

He stands up. You moan and he gives you an absent reassuring pat on the shoulder, then goes over to the corner of the room and does – something.

“Alright,” he says as he’s sitting back down on the bed. “Camera’s sabotaged, you can talk. How are you doing?”

You can only manage a glare in response to that, and Jim laughs.

“Right, _very_ eloquent.” He gets a bottle of water and taps your cheek. "Open up, you need to rehydrate."

You open your mouth and let him put the rim of the bottle against your dry lips. The water tastes divine; you weren't even aware of how thirsty you were.

"Alright." He pulls the bottle back and turns. You can see something that looks like a first-aid it on the bed. He opens it and rummages through the contents.

“Mmf,” you try. No words yet.

“Shush,” Jim says, a little impatient. He takes a disinfectant wipe and carefully brushes it over the cut below your collarbone.

“Adler?” you ask.

“Downstairs, giving us privacy. She was intending to eavesdrop, of course”-he turns away and takes another wipe–“but I rewired her camera. It’s a formality, she knew I would.”

“Another test?”

“Something like that. Don’t move.”

You hiss at the sting as he wipes your stomach clean. “How do I look?”

“Hm?” He sits back and cocks his head, studying you. “Like someone tried to flay you, approximately.”

“Right. Brilliant.”

“Roll over onto your side.”

You do, with a lot of muffled cursing and groaning. Jim doesn’t move for a second, as if he’s surprised by what he sees.

“Is it that bad?” you ask, a bit worried.

“It’s… impressive-looking.” He squeezes your shoulder. “No matter, it’ll heal.”

“Let’s hope so.”

He slowly cleans up the other cuts and bruises, leaving you to come back to earth. “So,” you ask after a bit. “Was it worth it? Did you learn something?”

“I learned lots. Of course, she did too, but that was a risk we had to take.”

“Well, glad I didn’t suffer without purpose,” you say, sarcastically.

He snorts. “Your suffering always serves purpose.”

“I don’t call _amusing you_ purpose.”

“Maybe you should, then.” He gently tugs at your shoulder and you slowly roll back.

You look up at him. He’s sitting next to you, leg folded underneath him, looking a little tired. “You were impressive, though,” he says, with an odd little half-smile.

“Was I?”

“Oh, yes.”

You close your eyes. “Good.”

For a few moments you can hear nothing but Jim’s slow breathing and your own heartbeat. Then the bed shifts and he leans in. His lips touch your cheek in what has to be the gentlest kiss you’ve ever gotten from him. Your eyes snap open in surprise.

“Now come on,” he says. “Let’s get you home again.”

And you slowly let him pull you up.


End file.
